


i choose: me, you, us

by only_more_love



Series: Remix Fics [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Arc Reactor, Emotions, Established Relationship, Functional communication, Intimacy, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Remix, Talking, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22883839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_more_love/pseuds/only_more_love
Summary: “We, uh. We’ve been together five years, and you’ve never— I’ve never let you see it. I told you I’d let you see it on our wedding night.”In which Tony and Steve marry, but Tony hasn't let Steve see the arc reactor—and the scars around it. Yet.“May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.”-  Nelson Mandela
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Remix Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648132
Comments: 24
Kudos: 191
Collections: 2020 Captain America/Iron Man Remix Madness, Lights on Park Ave





	i choose: me, you, us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lacrimula_Falsa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacrimula_Falsa/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Ugly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14822162) by [Lacrimula_Falsa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacrimula_Falsa/pseuds/Lacrimula_Falsa). 
  * In response to a prompt by [Lacrimula_Falsa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacrimula_Falsa/pseuds/Lacrimula_Falsa) in the [2020_Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2020_Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness) collection. 



> This story was also inspired by [this prompt](https://lightsonparkave.tumblr.com/post/190593985991/glitterghosts-i-think-about-love-on-a-scale-from) from [Lights on Park Ave](https://lightsonparkave.tumblr.com/). Many thanks to nostalgicatsea for running this monthly challenge. If you haven't already checked out this challenge, please do. There are many different and evocative prompts patiently waiting for you to fill them. 
> 
> Can you spot the two lines I borrowed from Buffy the Vampire Slayer? ;) Let me know in a comment if you do.
> 
> Thank you to Mairi, profoundfangirl, ramblesrantsmusings, and fiftyshadesofstony for cheer reading after I posted. <3<3<3

Steve takes a deep breath and curls his hand loosely around Tony’s, his fingers gliding over Tony’s knuckles before they slide home over his wrist. His hand just fits—Tony’s does, easy as breathing, easy as loving Tony—against Steve’s chest, over his heart.

With his fingers resting against the thin skin of Tony’s wrist, he sinks into the even, reassuring rhythm of Tony’s heartbeat. That steady pulse grounds him when he thinks he might otherwise float away on a current of joy.

In this moment, he doesn’t have to: worry about the next threat; lead the Avengers; choose his words carefully; consider whether he’s doing the right things; put on Captain America’s game face.

His stomach doesn’t churn and knot while he asks himself if he’s done enough—if he’s finally earned the right to taste happiness.

For once, for now, Steve gives himself permission to simply _be_ , at least for a while. It feels like freedom and makes his head spin just a little—and he gets to enjoy it with Tony.

He’s with Tony, and in the comfortable circle of his arms, it’s safe; safe for Steve to just let go and allow the hazy swirls of whatever slow song the band is playing nudge them into a gentle sway that’s more an excuse to hold Tony close than it is dancing. 

Sometimes Steve thinks he can never get close enough to Tony. Selfishly, the more of him he gets, the hungrier he feels. 

Someone laughs, a sudden bright flare of sound that drifts to them on the warm, Mauritian air. Their friends eddy around them on the sand, dancing, drinking, living. Steve has eyes for no one but Tony. Everything else dissolves into background noise and set design. 

With a soft sigh, Steve rubs his thumb over the ring on Tony’s fourth finger, then lifts Tony’s hand to his lips for a kiss. The ring, fashioned by Tony himself from the battered remnants of Steve’s old shield, retains the warmth of Tony’s skin. My husband, Steve thinks, tasting the tart-sweet newness of the words. Husband. His lips curve up at that, his smile so irrepressible it probably looks silly.

Second-guessing it would be effortless, a finely-honed habit. This time, Steve doesn't let himself do that. 

Steve doesn’t care how ridiculous he might appear.

Tony gives a sniff, drawing Steve’s gaze. “You happy?” he asks, his voice suspiciously thick and wet-sounding as he tilts his head back and scans Steve’s eyes with his own. He blinks. Such a small thing, but Steve’s breath hitches at the motion. Long, brown-black lashes, up and down, up and down, echoing the forward and back movement of the surf as it crashes against the shore before receding again. 

“Yes. So happy.” He doesn’t have to consider his answer. “Today’s been amazing, and I was so proud to make promises to you in front of the other people we love.” His other hand drifts to the back of Tony's neck and dips into his hair, without intent, just idly stroking the silky strands. Because he can, and it feels good. Tony gives a quiet, shuddery sigh, drawing Steve’s lips into another smile. “But I need you to understand something.”

“What?” Tony asks, one eyebrow quirked smartly in that way of his that Steve's tried and failed to replicate. Tony's hand that’s brushing broad circles low on Steve’s back stills, and his fingers dig in just a bit.

“I was happy before; I'd stay happy even if we never got married," Steve says. "Sweetheart, all I want is you. However you’ll have me. For as long you’ll have me.”  
  
“That a promise?”  
  
“Yes.”

Tony’s hand slips free of Steve’s and climbs to his face instead. “Then how’s forever?” he asks, the tiniest of tremors in his voice as he carefully strokes his fingers from Steve’s cheek to his jaw and then further down, following the long line of his throat. “Does forever work for you?”

Even after all this time with Tony, sometimes it’s still easy for Steve to slip on his words. But he catches himself. Steve swallows thickly against the emotion clogging his throat and tightens his arms around Tony. “Until we’re dust, my love,” he murmurs right next to Tony’s ear, keeping his voice so quiet that no one but Tony should hear it, buried under the lilt of a guitar and wave song as it is.  
  
Leaning in and pressing a smile against Tony’s warm, familiar mouth feels like the only inevitable conclusion, the happy ending that’s actually a continuation Steve once silently despaired of ever earning. Nudging and angling, he asks a question that Tony answers through the scrabble and catch of his fingers in Steve’s collar.

He knows Tony, knows the heat of his hands and the texture of his breath and the way he moves, both in and out of the Iron Man armor. But when Tony opens for him, now, on a hushed quiver of breath as Steve presses closer and closer, he learns and relearns the breathtaking shape that happiness takes on Tony’s mouth. 

He tastes of fondant, white chocolate, and marzipan, the wedding cake they fed each other with sticky, bare fingers and bare hearts, laughing.

_Husband.  
  
_

* * *

  
Tony’s beyond beautiful like this, vibrantly alive. He tosses his head back to bare his throat, breathless and laughing as Steve swings him up and into his arms. Steve opens the door and steps into the beachfront villa that’s waiting for them. He’s careful to turn sideways so they don’t bump into anything. 

“You know, I’m not a bride,” Tony says, wiggling in Steve’s grasp. His lips tip in a broad, teasing grin that fills Steve’s chest with a fluttery warmth that's only ever been caused by Tony. “Though I would totally rock a veil. Oh well, too late now.” His eyes crinkle at the corners in that way Steve swears he’ll never tire of, and they twinkle up at Steve, brighter than every single star that glitters in the night sky. 

What a foolish, sentimental notion. Then again, Steve’s a foolish, sentimental guy. “You sure would. And while you might not be a bride, you are my husband.” 

Tony smiles, and Steve knows he wears its mirror image on his face. “Yeah, that I am, husband.” 

When they reach the bedroom, and Steve sets Tony gently on his feet, Tony stays uncharacteristically quiet. 

They shimmy out of their shoes and help each other undress until finally, Steve’s naked and all that’s left of Tony’s ensemble is his shirt. 

With only candlelight and moonglow providing illumination, shadows are thrown all over the room. Tony’s shirt, though, gleams bright and white against the warm olive of his skin. Under it shines the cool blue of the arc reactor. 

Tony stands with his arms crossed over his chest, his hands curled around his biceps. 

Tony’s hands are shaking.

That’s not what Steve wants, ever, but especially not tonight of all nights. “Tony,” Steve says, keeping his voice steady and low. “You don’t have to do this.”

“We, uh. We’ve been together five years, and you’ve never— I’ve never let you see it. I told you I’d let you see it on our wedding night.”

“That was a joke. I know that.”

“Well, joke’s on me, huh?” Tony says, rolling onward as if Steve hasn’t spoken, “‘cause here we are, and it’s our wedding night.” 

“Yeah, it is, Tony. And I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Tony huffs a small laugh and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Oh, come on. I know _that_.” 

“Okay. Good. That’s good.”

“You don’t get it.”

“So tell me. Help me understand.”

“You’re not making me do this. I am. It’s… This is ridiculous because we’ve been together five years, and now we’re fucking _married_ , and I still haven’t let you see the...the machine in my chest. It’s not right. I have to do this. And I want to, Steve. I do. I really do.” Tony paces around the bedroom, rubbing at his arms like he’s cold. His shirt wafts around his bare legs as he walks. 

Steve doesn’t try to stop him; just sits on the end of the large, four-poster bed. Hands loosely clasped, he turns his head and watches Tony make another rapid circuit around the room. “Do you trust me?”

“Yeah. I do. Of course, I do.” He taps his ring and flashes Steve a wry smile. “Never would’ve married you if I didn’t.”

“Then show me.”

Tony sighs and shakes his head. “You make everything sound so simple, even when it isn’t, big guy.”

“You know what’s simple?”  
  
Tony’s steps finally pause, leaving him several feet away from Steve, and he raises an eyebrow in Steve’s direction. “Hm?”

“I love you. That’s simple.”

A smile flits over Tony’s face, but it appears and disappears so quickly. “It’s not, uh.” Tony flicks at his shirt button, his fingers trembling, those calloused fingers that build amazing things Steve can’t even imagine. “There are”—he blows out a harsh breath through his mouth, and Steve’s throat closes up at how Tony’s fumbling his words—“um. There’s some scarring.” His fingertips draw an uneven circle on his chest, tracing around the arc reactor that’s slightly visible through his shirt. Head tilted down, he chews on his upper lip. “It’s not pretty.” He glances up at Steve through the thick, dark veil of his long lashes, then looks away, hummingbird-quick.  
  
Steve wants to kiss him. Of course, he does. He wants to vanish Tony’s anxiety with the touch of his mouth, but he knows that sometimes words are important, too. So he licks his bottom lip and tries to organize his thoughts. Stretching out his arm, he reaches for Tony; winds their fingers together and tugs him closer, so he stands with Steve’s legs bracketing him on either side. “It doesn’t have to be pretty. _You_ don’t have to be pretty. You just have to be you,” he says. “You take my breath away. You’re allowed to have parts of you that you think are ugly, even though I’ll never think they are, not even if we live five lifetimes together.”

Tony shakes his head roughly, his shoulders stiff and unyielding. His expression flickers into an argument a second before his mouth makes it. “You can’t know that. You haven’t even seen—”

It’s rude, but Steve cuts him off: “I can, and I do know that.” He splays his free arm wide. “I married _you_ , Tony, a whole person. Every single thing that makes you, you. Not just the pieces that get thrown up on glossy magazine covers.”

“But you—”

Shaking his head, Steve places two fingers over Tony’s lips. “No ‘buts.’” His fingers slide away. “Is it pretty when I wake up sweating and crying in the middle of the night?”

Tony’s free hand lifts and his fingers spread wide in a questioning gesture. “Pretty? No, it’s not pretty.” He makes a face. “But human? Yeah. It is that. And I get it. We all have our shit. Me included.”

“Exactly. And would you love me less if the serum stopped working and I was just skinny, weak Steve Rogers again?”  
  
Tony frowns, a storm in his face, and taps a finger against Steve’s chin. “First of all, even if you were skinny again, Steve Rogers would never be weak. That’s not who you are. Never has been.” His vehemence and indignation warm Steve. In Tony, he has his greatest defender. “And second, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. That ring on your finger means you’re stuck with me, buddy. So get used to it. Third, of course, I wouldn’t love you less if that happened. You know better, I hope. I mean, you should.”

“That’s just it, I do know better. And so should you.” Steve’s voice has steadily gotten louder and louder, so he makes a conscious effort to relax his shoulders and lower his voice. “Listen to me,” he says, “please. I love you, I choose you, and I want you here”—Steve touches their joined hands to Steve’s head—“and here”—Steve lays their hands flat over his heart. “And here.” He moves their hands to his cock and allows them to rest there as his body reacts to his feelings, Tony’s nearness, and Tony’s touch.

When he finally releases Tony’s hand, it’s only so he can drape both his arms around Tony and lay his cheek against his belly. “You didn’t get to choose whether or not to have your chest cut open.” He rubs his cheek against the crisp, airy linen of Tony’s shirt. “But you do get to choose whether or not to show it to me. Marriage isn't ownership. We don't have a right to every last piece of each other.” Tony breathes, his stomach rising and falling with it in a comforting motion under Steve’s cheek, and his hands gently weave through Steve’s hair, sifting and stroking. He’s listening. Steve knows he is. “We can keep some things purely for ourselves. That's not wrong. So share with me what you can. What you want. Besides, I can still make love to you like this. I don’t mind.” Wearing a small grin, Steve shrugs. “You can keep showering with your shirt on for the rest of our lives. I’m okay with it.” His hands skate under the tails of Tony’s shirt and land on his lower back, just above the rise of his ass. He lets his head fall back on his neck so he can peer up at Tony in the half-dark of the bedroom. “But whatever happens, it’s your choice.” His hands tighten their hold on Tony, emphasizing the point. “Yours, sweetheart,” he says, swaying Tony a bit with his hands. “So what do you choose?” 

A complex cocktail of emotions moves over Tony's face, clouds shrouding the sun. Tony’s hands tense in Steve’s hair. His eyes shut and his face tightens, his brows scrunching up and his mouth thinning. But then his face smooths out again, and his eyes open as he takes one small step back from Steve, freeing his hands from Steve’s hair. “You, Steve,” he says, his voice unsteady as he glances away and undoes the buttons of his shirt, slipping each through its corresponding buttonhole, one by one. Steve tracks the progress of Tony’s hands. “I choose you. Always.” He sounds more certain now, and that lightens something in Steve.

The two sides of Tony’s shirt part, and then Tony takes off the shirt entirely, sliding it down his arms and over his wrists and hands. It flutters to the floor soundlessly.

Steve inhales a deep breath and stares at Tony’s chest, feeling the weight this moment carries. One hand hovers over the blue circle of light in the center of the arc reactor. He doesn’t touch, but he wants to. Thick, pale scars surround the arc’s outer circumference. “Do the scars hurt?” Steve asks, frowning. He swallows, imagining Tony in a cave in Afghanistan, hurt and scared. 

“No. No, they don’t. I can’t feel them.”  
  
Instead of touching the arc reactor, Steve curls one hand at Tony’s hip and flattens the other against Tony’s stomach. “Will it bother you if I kiss them?”  
  
Tony's hesitation speaks so loudly that Steve knows the answer to his question long before Tony finally speaks. Still, he waits, because that's what Tony needs from him. “I’d rather you didn’t kiss them.” Tony's voice turns slow and halting. “Or touch them.”

“Then I won’t." In Steve's mind, the matter is settled, and he feels no desire to persuade Tony to a different point of view. Not about this. "But you should know this: I don’t think they’re ugly.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “You’re just saying that to be nice.”

“No, I’m really not. The scars, they just exist. They _are_. The arc reactor’s keeping you alive, and those scars are proof that you’re a survivor. Sure, you can feel differently, but to me, that’s anything but ugly.” Tony’s mouth opens like he’s going to keep arguing, which Steve knows from years of experience that he's extremely good at. He's all too aware of how long they can go in circles about this topic or another, so he just smiles and pulls Tony down into his lap. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“Shut up, you sweet talker.” Tony tucks his face into Steve’s neck. “You’re gonna get laid regardless.” Steve feels Tony smile against his skin, and then he sits up straight again, his fingers playing over Steve’s cheekbones. “You shouldn’t thank me for being a coward. I should’ve shown you years ago,” he says.

“Be quiet,” Steve says, rubbing his hand over Tony’s broad, naked back, stroking from the base of his neck on down until he feels Tony's muscles loosen. “That’s my husband you’re talking about. I do have to thank you for doing something that was clearly hard for you. Forget 'have to.' I want to.”  
  
Tony’s silent for a long moment that stretches out and wraps around them. There’s no awkwardness, though; Tony warm and naked in Steve’s arms feels nothing short of blissful. “Thanks for giving me a choice,” Tony says, eventually, a contemplative note curled around his voice. 

Steve shakes his head. “No, I didn’t give you a choice. The choice was always yours.” He presses a kiss to Tony’s cheek and lets his lips linger there against his skin; there's no rush. “Do you want to put your shirt back on now?”

Tony pushes at Steve’s chest until Steve topples over onto his back with his arms still looped securely around Tony. “Do you want me to?”  
  
“Me? Definitely not,” Steve says. “I like you like this, with nothing between us but skin. But you should do what makes you comfortable.”

“This is, um.” Tony clears his throat. “This is going to take some time to get used to. I’m not comfortable like this. Not yet. But I think maybe I can get there. At least, I want to try.” His voice comes out croaky and uncertain, but his face and his eyes are open and vulnerable.   
  
Vulnerability doesn't come to Tony much easier than it does to Steve. Steve, he gets that. The heart Tony buries under deflection and jokes is soft—and beats true blue.

A heart as big and soft as Tony’s hurts proportionally, too, so Steve understands the wedding gift Tony’s given him.

The perfect gift.

He vows to take care of it...for the rest of their lives.

He doesn’t think he can love Tony more than he does right now, and he won't abuse the fragile trust Tony placed in his hands. Since Steve already used his words every way he knows how to reassure Tony, perhaps it's time to use other methods he has in his arsenal. “I’ll try anything you like, sweetheart,” Steve says, and tugs Tony down into a kiss full of promise and sweetness. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments and kudos are much appreciated, should you choose to leave them, and I respond to all comments, though sometimes it takes me a while. If you don't feel like commenting, I still hope you enjoyed this. :) Be well. 
> 
> Should you wish to reblog it, the tumblr post for this fic is [here](https://onlymorelove.tumblr.com/post/611431291448082432/a-remix-of-lacrimula-falsa-s-lovely-fic). You can find me at [onlymorelove.tumblr.com](http://onlymorelove.tumblr.com). Come talk to me if you like. I do not bite. :) Sometimes you can also find me on Discord.


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